


The Storm

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Major End Spoilers, Post-Series, discussion of suicide, maybe a tiny hint of very slightly codependent dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 23:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: They've settled into their new lives--but they can't keep putting off this conversation forever. Postgame, literally just 100% spoiler.





	The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> The impetus for this particular fic is drawn almost entirely from deleted lines--bad form, I know, but between being intrigued by the idea that Boxer generally resists asking for help (Welcome01_Monologue3) and honestly quite perturbed by the idea Red had to justify her final decision at some point in development (Red_5 and Red_7), I had too many emotions and had to make _something_. ...It doesn't _incorporate_ the deleted lines, they just kicked off the thought process that resulted in this fic.

He pleads. Her intention brushes against him, warm and comforting and resolute like a lover’s touch, but he pleads with her anyway. He feels more powerless than he ever has—and considering the last two days, that’s saying something.

All the while, he sees himself through her eyes, staring up at the Transistor like it’s the answer she’s been looking for this whole time.

“Wait—” he croaks, but she doesn’t; the barest flex of her fingers brings him hurtling towards her. “ _Red!!_ ”

—And the sound of his own voice wakes him.

He gasps for air as his brain sorts dream from reality, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling of the farmhouse. Before his racing heart has calmed—before he can dare to check—there is movement from next to him.

“Babe? What is it?” Red asks, her voice slurred by sleep.

He exhales shakily and reaches for her. Fingertips brush against soft skin, and he begins to trust that she’s really here. “Nightmare,” he says. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure?” She rolls over to look at him, her hand tracing his shape in the darkness so that she can wrap her arm around him and pull him close. “You were crying, I think? I was half-awake.”

Yeah, his cheeks are wet. Can’t really wipe them when she’s holding him like this, though, and he doesn’t want to push her away. He sniffs, as discreetly as he can, and makes his tone sardonic. “And then I had to go and wake you all the way up. Sorry, Red.”

“Don’t apologize. Hey.” Her hand finds its way up his side, to the back of his neck. She pulls him into a kiss and he breathes it in. She’s still here. She’s _still here_ , and so is he, and that’s how it’s going to be for as long as either of them can think of.

When she breaks the kiss, she wipes a gentle thumb against the tearstains on his cheek. “What was it about?” she asks.

“It was…” He falters, and then he lies. “Those last days.”

“Mm.”

A wry smile touches her lips. They’ve both had nightmares about that. So it should have been believable, but Red finds herself hesitating. She traces his jaw.

“Hey,” she says with quiet force in her voice. “You know I’m not going to leave you, right? I came here to be with you. It’s all I wanted. So I’m not going to leave you.”

She only ever refers to it as _coming here_.

“I know, Red,” he says. He rests his hand on her side. “Go back to sleep. I love you.”

“Mm…” She cuddles in close to him, willing at least to half-obey. But the sound of his heartbeat and the sound of his breath—not quite even enough to be convincing—keep her awake until a pale gray light begins to creep up the sky.

()

They’ve been here for a few months, maybe. They don’t really keep track—few ways to, even fewer reasons. Time just passes, without seasonal SkyVotes or scheduled facade updates to move it along. The harvest is coming, they think, and a conveniently informative book waiting for them in the library confirms it.

They’ve gotten used to it: the wide-open sky, waves of gold stretching as far as they can see. Every now and then, they pick one of the paths leading away from the house and follow it outwards together, only to find nothing and make their way home once the sun begins to sink in the sky. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Day melts into night melts into new day, an unconcerned cycle, and they’ve grown used to the way their thoughts sometimes melt into each other without ever voicing the reason for it. Red sings to herself when they sit on the porch together in the morning. Sometimes he sings along, because he can feel the vibrations in his own chest when she speaks.

They aren’t sitting on the porch this morning. Heavy clouds are gathering on the horizon and the wheat in the fields bobs fretfully with the wind. Neither of them got back to sleep last night. Neither of them have admitted it. He’s watching the storm approach from the east, pretending not to stew in the thoughts that his nightmare brought to the forefront. And she doesn’t feel like singing, doesn’t feel like she should have to untangle the tension that rolls off him in waves, especially if he isn’t going to _say_ _anything_. She goes to the west windows and rests clenched fists on the sill; the storm is closing in from there, too.

By lunchtime, the clouds are hanging low and oppressive over the house and the wind is strong enough to rattle the front door. The atmosphere darkens his mood and his mood darkens the sky further, and the feedback loop agitates him even more. He just wants to let this go. Why can’t he let it go? The hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the threat of lightning and with Red’s simmering resentment.

It’s the first rumble of far-off thunder that finally makes him give up. He turns towards her, arms hanging tense at his sides. “So are we gonna have this fight or not?”

Red exhales, and rain begins to hiss in the distance. A moment later, it’s splatting against the window panes in fat drops. The front door shakes in its frame and the house creaks in protest. But in the midst of all this movement, Red is as regal and unmoving as a statue. Her eyes glint like ice. “That depends. You could always resent me in silence for a few more months.”

“ _I’m_ the one doing the resenting here?” he asks, incredulous.

“I know what you dreamed about.”

She tosses it out proudly like the trump card it is. His lip curls in frustration, not entirely directed at her. Not entirely _not_ directed at her, either.

She continues before he can think of something to say. “You lied to me.”

“It was the middle of the night,” he points out. “I wanted to let you sleep.”

“It’s not the middle of the night now.”

She’s not wrong. So he dodges. “Why are _you_ angry?” he demands. “You want me to talk about it, fine, I’ll talk about it. All you had to do was ask!”

He’s lying. Lightning flashes in the sky and thunder follows close behind it as Red gestures widely with her arms. “I _have_ asked. I’ve asked you over and over whether you’re angry about it, and every time you just say you aren’t. Then you have a dream like last night and you spend the rest of the next day sulking. Did you think I wouldn’t make the connection?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” he says through gritted teeth. “We’re here now. Together. That’s what _matters_ , right?”

“Isn’t it?” She doesn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice. He’s quoting her own words back to him like he doesn’t think she means them, and her fury is a lump in her throat and the air pressure thick against her eardrums. “Or did you want me to stay out there? Dragging that thing around while you crack jokes at me, rebuilding that damn city on my own, pretending that repainting the buildings every few months was enough to distract me from the fact that I was _the only one there_?”

“No!” The image is like a knife in his heart. “I didn’t want that.”

“ _Liar_. You tried to convince me to stay!”

“I tried to convince you not to _kill yourself_! Dammit, Red, if you want me to talk then let me _talk_!” His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He opens his mouth to continue, but a peal of thunder cuts him off, almost loud enough to deafen. Neither of them flinch, because it’s not a surprise; it’s practically inevitable. Red waits, still and taut, for him to continue.

“Listen,” he says over the ringing in his ears. “ _Listen_ to me, Red, I spent three years knowing that there was barely enough in Cloudbank to keep you there and doing whatever I could to make it worth it for you. From that first night—I saw you sitting on that railing over the water and I had to say something to you, because when you’re _happy_ … Red, your joy could have lit the whole city, and when you were having bad days I was always afraid I wouldn’t be able to make you remember that!”

“Ha!” It’s a cruel laugh, the kind that leaves her throat raw. “In that corpse of a city, I wouldn’t have had enough joy to power a terminal. Not without _you_. So I’m sorry if I undid three years of self-debasement because there was more for me inside the Transistor than outside it!”

“Self-debasement?” he repeats after her, voice rising in disbelief.

Her eyes flash like the lightning outside. “Always making yourself smaller when you thought I was upset, pretending you were never in pain just to make sure I acted in the way you decided was best for me. Do you think I’m fragile? Do you think I’m _stupid_? If you disagree with the decision I made, the least you could do is give me a chance to justify it!”

“Oh, sure, because you just _love_ having to justify yourself,” he says, anger making him sarcastic.

“Believe it or not, I prefer it over being misunderstood and silently resented!” She crosses her arms, nails digging into her own skin as the wind and the rain grow ever louder around them. “I thought you would understand. After everything we went through, I thought you’d know how _tired_ I was, how empty it all was. I killed Sybil and the Spine and Royce all because they thought _they_ had the right to end my life and take you away from me. I fought my way back and forth across Cloudbank because I had no choice, because there _had_ to be some way to see you again. The city died around us because the Camerata didn’t know how to control the results of their own actions. And I was supposed to stay there and rebuild it? Because that’s what Royce was so desperate to do? Or just because I was the last one standing? There was _nothing for me_ there. I had the right to make the decision I made!”

“I never said you _didn’t_!” He’s shouting now, voice strained to reach her over the thunder that crashes around them unceasingly. “If you would stop putting words in my mouth for one damn second—”

“Where have I put words in your mouth?” she shoots back; she, too, is shouting to be heard. When she takes a deep breath to continue, another thunderclap roars overhead and she loses her patience at last. She whirls towards the nearest window. “Would you _shut up already_?”

And all at once, the tempest calms.

The thunder stops, leaving a hollow ringing in their ears, and the flashes of lightning that they’d almost grown accustomed to come no more. The rain still falls, but the wind no longer pelts it against the windows; it fades to a low, steady hiss as it falls upon the fields. The house settles and stops creaking as the wind dies down.

In the sudden quiet, they are both left breathing heavily. Red stands frozen by what she’s just done, even though it’s not a surprise, not really. That’s what this place is. That’s _what they are_ to this place.

It’s not quite the Country; it’s not even what she let herself hope for on her most optimistic days.

It’s where they are.

It’s where they _will be_.

“I chose this,” she says, her voice hoarse and trembling a little. She is still turned away from him. “If I had to choose it again, I would—over and over and over until I could be sure you were mine to keep. If that’s unacceptable to you, I don’t… I don’t know what we can do about it from here.”

“I know,” he answers. “I know, Red, that’s why I don’t ever say anything.”

“Oh.” A defeated smile pulls up at her lips. “I see.”

“Red…”

She doesn’t turn towards him, so he dares to take a few steps forward and places his hands on her shoulders. The contact makes her catch her breath; but in a moment, her tense muscles begin to unknot themselves and she lets herself lean back against him. He is solid and warm and quiet.

“Can you forgive me?” she asks, and she wills the rain outside to count as her tears so that she will not dissolve before she’s said what she needs to. “Tell me what I can do to make it forgivable.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something I have to—”

“Hey.” She turns in his arms and looks up into his face. “Stop dodging. Stop trying to protect me from this. Answer me, okay? You wouldn’t be having nightmares about it if it didn’t hurt. So just tell me. Not knowing is driving me crazy.”

“Oh.” His heart is a lump in his throat, and his hands are shaking where they rest on Red’s shoulders. Something is dissolving, something he’s tried to keep steady inside him for months. He takes a breath that trembles as it goes out. “You’re pushy, Red, you know that?”

It’s a joke, so she gives a wry chuckle; but then she waits. She tries to brace herself without bracing herself. He needs to say this and she needs to hear it and they’ll go from there, together.

He gives another shaking sigh and folds her into an embrace; her arms loop around his waist and her head rests against his chest. They can feel each other breathe.

“You’re pushy,” he says again, “and you always know what you want, and I love you so much for it, but dammit, Red, you killed yourself _with me_ and all I could do was beg you to stop—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, breathing like he is about to cry. Red stands paralyzed, hardly breathing at all. His pain _hurts_.

“Do you wish I hadn’t?” she asks, and tries to prepare herself to hear whatever answer will come.

But his response is immediate. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Red, you’re _here_.” He pulls back to look at her, traces her jaw with a careful thumb. “I thought we’d never… never touch each other again, thought I’d never hear your voice… And I tried to make myself believe that as long as you were still holding me, that was enough. That was being together.”

“You didn’t really believe it,” she says quietly. “When we were near the Spine, the second time…”

He winces and glances away.

_Red, will ever see you again? I mean… face to face._

_Then we could watch everything around us wash away together, hand in hand._

He shakes his head to chase away the memory. “I hated that thing,” he says, referring to the Spine—but there’s self-reproach in his voice as well. “Diarrhea of the mouth is _not_ a good look on me. There was enough going on already. I didn’t want to add to your worry.”

She reaches up and brings his gaze back to her. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I can handle a little worry, right?” A wistful smile touches her lips. “I can handle myself.”

He tries to smile in answer. “Yeah. I just wanted to do what I could for you.”

“You gave your life for me,” she points out. Her voice catches at the end and she feels herself waver; the rain, she reminds herself, the rain is crying for her. “I didn’t want you to have to protect me anymore or be strong for me. I just wanted time to be _us_ again. I was tired of being strong and I thought you had to be tired, too, so… I made my decision.”

“Would’ve preferred to talk it over,” he confesses, only realizing his mistake when she arches an eyebrow at him.

“I would’ve preferred to talk, too,” she chides him gently. Then she looks away, her chest tight. “I would have liked to spend the rest of our lives joking together, eating Junction Jan’s by the bay… seeing if I could ever get you to sing with me up on stage… I wish… I could have kept singing for everyone in Cloudbank.”

“But that wasn’t an option,” he says mutedly.

She shakes her head.

“So you came here.”

“So I came here. To be with you.” She glances up at him. “I knew you wouldn’t like it. I knew you would want to stop me. And… I knew you wouldn’t be able to. But you’ve spent months pretending that it doesn’t bother you, always pretending, and I couldn’t tell if you would ever forgive me.”

Understanding finally dawns on him, and he feels shame seep into his heart. “I’ve been making it worse.”

She answers with a pained smile.

He shakes his head, trying to quash down the truth. “Red, I—”

“Shh.” She touches his lips to stop him; then she kisses him gently and it’s more than just a kiss: the boundaries between them blur and intermingle and every touch seems to sing an unheard melody.

When their lips part, he knows what she meant to say. He breathes out, long and ragged, and closes his eyes and lets himself remember instead of holding it at arm’s length. The horror in the pit of his stomach is as heavy as it was in real time. “It was…” he starts, his voice thick with pain.

But the memory has bled over to her as well and she feels like her heart is breaking. She clutches the back of his shirt and shakes her head against his chest, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out _don’t go_. Tears drip down her nose and lose themselves in his shirt; his arms wrap tight around her shoulders and he cries into her hair. For a long moment they stay like that, buried in the open wound, feeling the ache bloom throughout every cell of their bodies and for the first time admitting that it will need time to heal.

Red is the first to draw a breath. “I’m sorry,” she says in a trembling voice, paralyzed by how small the words are compared to the enormous pain she’s inflicted. She cannot imagine forgiving someone for causing such pain, cannot imagine forgiving anyone who would hurt him this way—

But he takes her by the chin and drags her into a kiss, deep and almost vicious in its passion. It is pain and forgiveness and reassurance all at once. It takes her breath away, leaving only her hunger for him and the resonance that hums between their hearts.

They are both panting for breath by the time they’ve finally gotten enough, and buzzing like raw nerves brushed up against each other. He cradles her face in his hand and what a wonder it is, what an impossible blessing, to be able to behold each other. They’ll never take _that_ for granted again.

“Together,” he observes.

“All that matters?” she suggests.

He answers with a wry smile. “Maybe not,” he says, “but it’s what matters most.”

“Yes.”

She rests her head against his chest and his arms settle around her waist and they breathe together in the quiet. The rain has stopped. A warm light touches the room as a golden sunbeam slips through the window; watching it, Red gives a sigh that’s _almost_ fond.

“This thing’s got a corny sense of dramatics,” she remarks.

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that say about us?”

“There’s the question.” Red turns in his arms and leans back against him to gaze out the window. As easy as breathing, she draws a rainbow across the sky and lets it shimmer there for an ephemeral moment before willing it away. “We need to start figuring that out,” she says, “but…”

“Not today,” he says. He kisses her hair, and by unspoken agreement, they walk outside together to watch the sun melt the rain away.

**Author's Note:**

> I really am... very glad that Red's lines justifying her decision to kill herself were cut out; I think it's an extremely sound storytelling choice. Honestly her decision speaks quite definitively for itself, and to have her spell it out makes it seem like she _needs_ to spell it out for him, and if she _needs_ to spell it out rather than Boxer being traumatized more by her sudden decision and the fear that they won't wind up in the same place, that... eh, it starts them off on a rather unfortunate foot, doesn't it?


End file.
